


kill the limbo

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Defining the Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 17:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13392834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: There’s a conversation that Tito and Mat should probably have.





	kill the limbo

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> Tito and Mat each had two goals apiece on Saturday (Mat had five points, Tito had three, and they each assisted on one of each other's goals), then Tito had a hometown goal last night and can we guess who got the assist? Also, there's [this video](https://www.msgnetworks.com/videos/follow-along-the-isles-at-a-nets-game-at-barclays-center/) of the two of them acting like boyfriends at a Nets game that I just saw for the first time last night. I was motivated to remind the world that they're in love, so. Here we are.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read a random gdocs link that I dropped on Twitter at 4AM, especially Aimee, who made this fic a whole lot better than it was before.

 

It’s just—it’s one of those things where Tito didn’t realize how messy the situation was until now, and it’s too late to do anything about it. 

The individual bits of information had been there: he and Mat are friends, he and Mat are also kind of more than friends, his parents like to get dinner with him when he’s in Montreal, his parents like to invite his friends to dinner. 

He just. Hadn’t put it together. 

 

“You should bring Mathew,” his mom had said.

And he couldn’t exactly say no, because every good reason he had for saying no is the kind of reason moms don’t understand. Like, “I’m a month and a half into the 2 month process of working up the nerve to tell him how I feel and we’re also hooking up and it was a bro thing but isn’t really a bro thing anymore” is not a sentence a person says to their mother, and Tito knew this at the time, but that left him with no good excuse for not bringing Mat to dinner. 

“Yeah, sure,” he’d said. “Go easy on his French, though.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll be gentle,” she’d said, in a knowing tone that hadn’t done much to help Tito’s nerves. 

 

Tito forgets about it until they’re boarding the plane to Montreal, because he’s an idiot, but it’s not like dinner with his parents is a big enough deal that he’d actually ask Mat about it, like, a week in advance. Maybe Mat already has dinner plans. Maybe Tito won’t have to come up with any sort of excuse. 

Or maybe Tito could just, like, invite Mat, like a normal friend, but Mat’s potentially not just a normal friend. 

Technically, Mat is already not just a normal friend, because Tito’s not hooking up with most of his friends, but there’s a difference between bros who bang and bros who bang and flirt. 

(Which—okay, yeah, the difference is flirting, duh, but there’s also—) 

“What about you, Tito?” Mat says, leaning over the seat, and Tito doesn’t actually startle, but it’s a near thing. “Seeing family tonight?”

“Yeah,” Tito says, and then, in French, he adds, “They said you could come too, if you wanted.” 

He doesn’t know why he says it in French, because it’s not a secret. Like, they’re friends, and Tito’s seeing his parents, and people aren’t gonna question that, except now that it’s a French thing, it’s a  _ thing _ , and Tito is 100% overthinking this. 

“Oh,” Mat says, his face mostly indiscernible, but he doesn’t look, like, disgusted, so there’s that, at least. “Are you sure?” 

“What?” Tito says. 

“I mean, I don’t wanna, like, intrude—” 

“You were invited,” Tito says. “My mom suggested it.” 

“Your mom?” Mat asks. 

“I mean—yeah,” Tito says, because he’s pretty sure that’s just, like, a normal mom thing to do. “If you’re busy, it’s fine.” 

“No, I’m not,” Mat says, a little too fast. 

“Can you guys switch to English?” Ebs says. 

“No,” Mat says, and Tito laughs, which earns him a pleased smile.

“Brat,” Ebs says. “It’s okay, you can plan your date in front of me.” 

Tito feels a little bit like he wants to curl up into a ball and die. 

“Fuck you,” Mat says, and then he punches Ebs in the arm for good measure, and Tito would like to say that he doesn’t fixate on the fact that Mat doesn’t deny that it’s a date, but it would be a blatant fucking lie. 

 

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m coming to dinner?” Mat asks later, when they’re in their hotel room. 

“Yes,” Tito says, going for lighthearted insistence, but he’s not sure it lands. 

He’s a little nervous; he probably shouldn’t be. 

“Okay,” Mat says. “Is it—” he starts, but then he cuts himself off. 

“What?” Tito asks, his stomach kind of turning. 

“Never mind,” Mat says. 

“No, ask,” Tito says.

“It’s a dumb question,” Mat says. 

They stare at each other, for a second, and they’re both kind of red-faced, and god, they really, really need to talk about this.

Tito almost says as much, but Mat speaks first.

“Just—is it a nice place?” 

“Oh,” Tito says. “I, uh, don’t know.” 

“Okay,” Mat says. 

They both linger for a second, neither of them quite willing to end the weird, tense conversation. Tito can’t decide if he wants it to be over or not. 

In the end, Mat gives him a short, awkward nod and gets to work rooting through his suitcase for clothes, and that’s that. 

 

“How do I look?” Tito asks, once he’s done getting ready.  

Mat looks him up and down before giving him a small, approving grin. “Nice,” he says, buttoning the sleeves of his shirt. “I like the sweater.” 

“Thanks, my mom got it for me,” Tito says. 

Mat walks over, rests his hands on Tito’s arms and examines his chest. It’s very much a move, but it’s very much working. “She’s got good taste.” 

“You should tell her that,” Tito says, and doesn’t back away when Mat takes a step toward him. 

“If I remember,” Mat says. 

He’s standing so close that Tito can feel his breath on his lips. “Mat.”  

“Yeah?” Mat says, and he leans in like he’s about to kiss him, but stops short, even though there’s no good reason to delay this, and they’ve gotta get going soon if they’re gonna be on time for dinner. Tito thinks about saying as much, except Mat’s mouth is right fucking there, so he yanks him in for a kiss instead. 

It’s a lot, right off the bat, probably because they’re both dealing with too many nerves, and they don’t have time to do anything more than kiss, but it’s the insistent kind of kissing that usually comes before games, when they both have extra energy they need to work off. This used to be the only way they kissed, until they started with drunk, giggly kissing, and then victorious kissing, and then lazy, just-because kissing, and arms draped over the backs of chairs and heads tucked into each other’s chests. 

“How much time do we have?” Mat asks. 

“Not enough,” Tito says. 

Mat hums. “You sure?” 

“Yes.” Tito laughs, a little breathless. 

“Fine,” Mat says, grinning, and then he leans in and kisses Tito again. “This shirt okay?” 

“Yeah,” Tito says. “You look good.”

“Thanks,” Mat says, more genuine than Tito is expecting, like Mat’s ever been anything less than painfully handsome and perfectly dressed a day in his life. But apparently, Tito’s approval means something to Mat, because he looks so pleased, and Tito doesn’t know why it makes his heart ache to look at it, but it does, so Tito leans in again, holds him tighter this time but kisses him slower. There’s too much tied up in it, and Tito doesn’t even mean for it to be like this, but suddenly this whole thing with Mat is overwhelming, and he wishes there was something he could do to make it go away, but it’s getting inescapable. 

Tito knows they have to talk about this. He just doesn’t know how.

“Okay,” Mat says, resting his forehead against Tito’s. “Dinner.” 

“Right,” Tito says.  

Both of them are breathing heavily; neither of them is letting go. 

 

They make it to dinner on time, but just barely, and they have a minor argument over directions, which Tito wins, and Mat is very slightly grumpy about it for the rest of the walk there. Not, like, grumpy-grumpy. Cute-grumpy, Tito thinks. The kind of grumpy that Tito doesn’t feel bad being cheerful around. 

Mat’s fine when they actually get to the restaurant, though; his French is clumsier than usual, which Tito finds incredibly amusing, but once he relaxes, the conversation flows easily, because that’s just how he is. For the most part, Tito’s alright, too, save for the one moment where he comes dangerously close to grabbing Mat’s hand under the table, but he doesn’t, and he doesn’t, like immediately panic about it, either. 

It’s just dinner, with his parents and his friend, and there are moments when it feels like dinner with his parents and his boyfriend, but both of those things are fine, and there was no reason to be nervous about it, probably. 

 

_ That went well,  _ is what Tito wants to say, and he thinks that’s what Mat wants to say too, but they can’t say that, so they walk back to the hotel in silence. 

 

Tito sits on the bed, and Mat closes the door to the hotel room and takes a deep breath. 

“Okay,” he says, and then he looks at Tito. 

Tito just stares back. 

Neither of them says anything, and the more time passes, the more ridiculous it becomes, because it’s not like either of them is looking away. It’s past the point of awkward, past the point of either of them holding any illusions about this, past the point of them pretending they’re just good friends or just hooking up, and it’s just—it’s dumb, that neither of them can bring themselves to say anything, but they can’t. 

Mat walks over to Tito, sits down next to him on the bed almost gingerly. Things are fragile, all of a sudden, and it gets more tense with each passing second, and finally Tito just looks at Mat, right in the eye, because it feels like something. 

Mat’s eyes are beautiful and intense and focused on Tito, and Tito’s mouth falls open, but he’s totally speechless— 

And then they’re kissing, so Tito doesn’t have to say anything at all. 

It’s not a smart decision, but it’s a relief, and they both dive right into it, grabbing at each other’s clothes, pressing against each other like they need to be closer. Usually Mat’s talkative and kind of bossy, but tonight it’s all gasps and breathy moans, like the only words he can remember are “fuck” and “yes” and “Tito.” They sound beautiful, and Tito wants to draw them out of him, so he grinds against him, squeezes his hips and kisses his neck, whispers in French too fast and mangled for Mat to understand. 

Tito knows every inch of Mat at this point, and he knows how to make him feel good better than anyone else, probably. It’s easy for him to plant a trail of kisses down his obnoxiously perfect stomach, easy to get Mat to shiver just the way he likes before he gets his mouth on him, easy to read between the groans and cut-off “can you—”s to figure out exactly what Mat wants, and easy to know whether to give in or to tease him. 

There are so many balances that only Tito knows how to strike, because Mat is a tricky person. He likes getting what he wants, but he needs to feel like he’s earned it, and he hates being told what to do unless he trusts someone else’s judgment more than his own. He’s attentive, and hates the idea of being complacent in anything, and learns best by example and experience, and he’s surprisingly honest. It’s easier to take him apart than people realize, because he doesn’t shy away from being vulnerable, and he’s open-minded and level-headed, aware of the things he can’t do on his own and unembarrassed when he needs to ask for help. 

He’s smart, and he cares, and some days, he’s the most complicated person Tito has ever met, and on others, he’s the thing Tito understands the best. Mat exists in a lot of in-betweens, but he’s such a clear presence, and he always fits. 

“Fuck, Tito, I’m gonna—” Mat says, and Tito moves his mouth a little faster, squeezes him a little harder, takes him a little deeper. 

Mat’s whole body arches when he comes, and Tito works him through it, listening to the way his breath lands, heavy and satisfied. His hair is a mess, and his eyes are closed, and he’s got one hand on Tito’s shoulder while the other is thrown over his head, and it’d be unfair, how good he looks like this, except Tito feels responsible for it, so he’s mostly just proud. 

“Thanks,” Mat says, still breathless, as Tito crawls up the bed to lie on his side next to him.

“Was that good?” Tito asks. 

Mat nods. “Yeah,” he says, then turns and gives Tito a small smile before he looks back at the ceiling. “Are we ever gonna talk about this?” 

Tito stares at the way Mat’s chest moves up and down for a second, then puts a hand on it and rubs a small circle with his thumb. “Probably.” 

“I mean, we’re on the same page, right?” Mat asks. 

Tito shrugs. “I assumed so.”

“Okay,” Mat says. “That’s good, then.” 

Tito nods, and focuses very hard on the way Mat’s skin feels as he moves his thumb over it, because if he does that, he can ignore the way his heart is beating way too fast in his chest. 

“Uh,” Mat says. “Are—can you look at me, man?” 

“Sorry,” Tito says, and takes a deep breath before looking Mat right in the eye. 

“Is this okay?” Mat says, his brow furrowing slightly. 

“Yeah,” Tito says, then drops his gaze to Mat’s collarbone. “It’s a good idea.” 

“If you don’t want to right now—” 

“No, I do,” Tito says quickly. “Just—conversations are hard.” 

“I know,” Mat says, and he sounds a little resigned. 

After a beat, Tito says, “But they’re also important, I guess.” 

“Yeah,” Mat says, and then he sighs. “Look, we don’t have to turn this into a whole discussion, just—this is a thing, right? Like, we like each other? We’re together?” 

Tito lets his head fall to the pillow so the fingers of the hand that had been propping it up can tangle themselves in Mat’s hair. He nods, a small smile finding its way onto his face, even though he’s still the farthest thing from relaxed. “Yeah, that’s—yeah.” 

“Cool,” Mat says, and when he sees Tito grinning, he grins, which makes Tito grin even wider, and they just lie there grinning at each other like idiots for a few seconds, until Tito has to tuck his face into Mat’s chest so Mat can’t see the embarrassing amount of fondness in his expression.

“I really like you,” Tito admits, and Mat can probably feel the too-wide smile against his skin. “Please be my boyfriend so we never have to talk about this again.” 

Mat laughs. “I feel like it’s gonna come up.” 

“So that’s a yes?” Tito asks. 

Mat doesn’t say anything, just laughs some more, but he’s nodding when Tito looks up, so Tito kisses him, because they both probably look really dumb right now. It backfires, because neither of them can actually stop smiling long enough to make out properly, so it’s mostly just a giggly mess.

Tito is very much on board with it. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Come talk to me on tumblr,](https://lottswrites.tumblr.com/) or follow me on twitter @lottslottslotts


End file.
